


A Life of Glitter

by Jupiterra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1980s, Child Matthew, Complete, Domestic Fluff, Father Alfred, Germany, Glitter, Human AU, Italy, M/M, Mama/Papa Ivan, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jupiterra/pseuds/Jupiterra
Summary: How much sweeter could life get for little Matthew when he has his big protective Mama to shield him from harm? Follow Matthew's steps as he walks through life with help from his all-American Dad.





	1. Chapter 1

Sand stung Matthews eyes as his tormentors kicked debris and dirt at him. “Gimme back my bear!” he cried tearfully, reaching out with small hands. “No. You're a fag, just like your daddies.” the older child sneered with a vicious grin. The fluffy white teddy bear was being held by one leg carelessly, dragged on the ground. “SHUT UP! You're a meanie!” Mathew argued, wavy wheaten locks bobbing with each shake of his head.

“Here loser, take your fag bear. I don't want to catch your AIDS anyway.” the older children taunted, throwing Kumajirou in the dirt and stomping on it. As he walked off in victory, several of his mute followers trailed behind in admiration.

Sniffling, young Matthew picked up his beloved toy and mourned. The right arm was nearly torn off, fluffy white fur stained to a pale brown in places. Kuma might as well be dead now. In his eight year old mind, the boy was already planning a basic funeral complete with Mama's cookies.

Mama. How could he have forgotten?

Sorrow evaporated, Matthew picked up his tattered bear. Sprinting to the office with all the energy a small child could muster, he was red faced as he bolted into the office. He was easily the shortest boy in his class, lilac eyes barely peaking over the counter. 

“Yes, dear?” the secretary asked, thick mousy hair and rounded curves. Remembering his bear's plight, Matthew made purple eyes big and watery, for he was a master of puppy eyes. “I need to call my Mama. I wanna go home.” he cried softly, every note designed to pluck the strings of the human heart.

“Ah, you're so cute. Don't you have classes?” the matronly figure asked, falling for the ploy. “I was bullied at recess... and... and they said mean things about my family... and I just wanna go home.” Matthew appealed again, crying a little. He was actually quite upset about the event. The boy was just more concerned about his bear.

“Okay, okay, you just sit tight.” the secretary assured, tousling his blond hair affectionately. After a few minutes, she was dialing the clunky green phone on her desk. She paled as she greeted the open air, “Um, hello, Mrs. Braginsky-Jones?” Matthew perked up hearing the comforting rolling consonant of his Mama's voice distantly. He hopped out of his chair, trying to reach in vain over the counter with grasping hands.

He was handed the line by a very confused secretary. “Mama, mama. I need you. Some big meanies called me a fag, and they kicked me, and they hurt my bear... and I want hugs and cookies.” he admitted tearfully. 

Mama's deep soothing voice came through. “Oy Lapushka! I will give you all the hugs and kisses you need!” the parent soothed, already enveloping Matthew in safety with his words. “Can... can you come get me?” the boy asked in a wobbly voice, hopeful. “Of course Matvey, Mama is coming! Just hand me back to the nice lady.” Mama promised, as if his kisses and kindness could reach through the cold plastic phone. They always did.

Doing as he was told, like a good boy, Matthew handed the phone back. Grinning wide, he sat back in his chair and waited. Mama was coming, and he always made everything better. Ten of the longest minutes to ever crawl by finally past. 

A hulking figure, easily six feet of muscle and intimidation, entered the office. The secretary was shrinking in her chair. To Matthew, it was home, his ash blonde guardian always in soft fluffy sweaters. Today's fare was a green, purple, and red with kangaroos. It read 'Hoppy Mondays' in glittery stitching on the front. Matthew couldn't agree with the offensively bright clothing more, because today was Monday.

“Veyka! Are you hurt! What happened? You need kisses!” Mama gushed, betraying his imposing impression of seconds before. Scooping up Matthew with big strong arms, the boy giggled and burrowed into that broad safe chest. Peppered with kisses, he gave the tacky sweater a squeeze. He suddenly remembered poor Kumajirou, his mighty white fur soiled by the earth. “The bullies hurt my bear. He's... he's dead.” Matthew fretted, overwhelmed with sorrow as he looked at his bear's dirty mangled arm.

“Nyet, nyet, little sunshine. Mama will fix your toy, with magic. Those duraki will not be bothering, you, my favourite angel, again.” Mama promised with a serene smile. Not even bothering to pronounce the stuffed animal's horrendous name, he picked it up as he prepared to leave the dinky white office. “I love you Mama, you're so big and strong.” Matthew replied in kind, holding on tighter. This earned him a chaste kiss on the forehead, followed by many more of the cheek variety.

Mama narrowed a burning violet gaze to the poor secretary, expression dark. Mama bear mode, Matthew noted, and felt pity for the unintended victim. “There will be a meeting about this. I will be talking to the principal and whoever was stupid enough to torture my little love muffin.” Mama ordered, every word simmering with rage.

“Yes... yes, um, Mister Braginsky-Jones.” the lady replied uncertainly, quaking in her chair. “Mrs. Braginsky-Jones, and you won't forget it.” Mama growled, staring her down. “Of course.” the poor creature agreed instantly.

“Bye miss Kowalsky!” Matthew bid good bye, endearingly oblivious in only the way a child could be. The child was fully aware his Mama was a man, and Russian, and built like a monster truck. Mama escaped some bad men called the soviets in the 1970's to start a better life.

Lucky for Matthew and Daddy, Mama chose the best country in the whole wide world. The United States of America! The fact that the towering Russian scared anyone at all was a mystery to young Matthew. Mama was the cuddliest kindest person he'd ever known, and how could that be terrifying?


	2. Chapter 2

Riding home in the wood panelled station wagon, Matthew and Mama sang to upbeat songs on the radio. “Mama?” Matthew asked as he played with his teal green seat belt. “Yes, Veyka?” Mama said distantly, clearly trying to drive in slippery North Dakota winter. “Is there other lonely Mamas in the USSR like you?” the child asked softly, genuinely curious. There was a tired weary sigh, then “Yes. There is girls and boys of all ages there, trapped and lonely. Afraid to love. I hope they find happiness like I have.”

Processing the heavy answer, the boy thought hard. Giving a dashing toothy smile, Matthew gave a sound impression of his Texan father. “I know they will Mama. If all Russians are as stubborn as you.” Mama laughed at this, royal purple eyes twinkling with joy. His laugh was deep and infectious. “Da, da, I suppose they will.” he mused, wiping a tear away.

Aside from small spurts in conversation, Matthew was silently contemplative. He had always been this way, a true introvert. Mama took almost a year to realize this when he first came into their lives. That had been five long years ago, and now Mama knew every twitch and expression. The old unhappy memories of Matthew's birth mother were largely overwritten by this point.

Before, there was only frustrated Dad and a distant biological parent fighting. There was Christmases with Mama now, golden memories that warmed Matthew's heart. Jellied salmon casseroles on lazy Saturdays. Kisses every morning as he run out after the school bus. Sure Mama generally went overboard at parent teacher interviews... and terrorized school staff in general. But he was doing it all for Matthew, his precious little love bird. The boy couldn't get upset over that.

This evening, the wheaten blond was helping Mama make his original tri-colour coleslaw. It was deep green, white, and purple cabbage shredded and flavoured, before being arranged into layers. It looked terrifying, but all of Mama's food was like that. Almost all of it was delicious, though it was never pronounceable. Only the infamous tuna, sunflower seeds, and grapes salad had been a complete failure. Dad tried to eat it to make Mama happy, throwing up like a 'all-American champion' after.

“Try shredding it a little smaller.” Mama corrected gently, pausing his own chopping. With a soft touch, he adjusted Matthew's grip on the knife and guided the smaller hand. Concentrating hard, Matthew stuck his tongue out as he tried to copy the action. He was mostly successful, which earned him a sloppy cheek kiss. “Gross!” Matthew squealed, absolutely soaking in the attention.

Mama chuckled and shook his head, resuming shredding his own head of cabbage. There was a click and squeal of dry hinges, signifying Dad had returned. Matthew vibrated with the need to greet his beloved paternal figure, but looked at Mama silently for permission to leave. The pale Russian granted it was a smile and a small nod.

Gone in a flash, the little boy crashed like a cannon ball into his father's legs and squeezed. A hall over from the kitchen, Dad looked winded from the impact, chuckling. Dad wasn't any old father. He was the dad of all dads, the champion dad. Matthew was absolutely certain his dad could beat up any other dad and win. The child looked up in reverence, memorizing the parent to the smallest detail.

Dad was tall, though shorter than Mama. His hair was wavy and wild like Matthew's, though shorter and darker. Blazing sky blue eyes were framed by glasses thick enough for the Hubble telescope. Dad's face was always clean shaven, making him seem young for his relative age. His baby blue business shirt was completed by an all-American tie of lady liberty. Dad's favourite, as he was a passionate patriot.

“Hey there champ, heard you had a rotten day.” Dad greeted, kneeling to hug his son tightly. His Texan accent made every vowel drag delightfully. Matthew nodded, then added “The new kid was mean.” “We can talk about this in the kitchen. I'm owed several kisses.” the adult concluded, taking his son by the hand. They both strolled into the kitchen, following the pleasant odours of cooking beef. Mama had already chopped and assembled the slaw in the brief minute the boy was gone.

“My favourite postmaster, my darling fedya!” Mama crooned, dropping everything to greet his unofficial husband. Gay marriage didn't exist, of course. Matthew doubted it ever would. Mama and dad had simply worn rings anyways, as if they were hitched. Mama also went through the painstaking effort of adopting Matthew as a back up legal guardian, so the older Russian really was his 'Mama'. It was a comforting gesture.

Knowing his parents always went heavy with kiss based greetings, Matthew wedged himself between them. The boy couldn't yet identify why his parents kissing was gross, but it seemed... less innocent. The plan backfired horribly. He was hug attacked by both adults, struggling to breathe. Honestly, the normally timid child wasn't putting up much of a fight.

“Sit, sport, and we'll talk about what happened. And I have more kisses for you later.” Dad commanded, winking playfully at Mama. Matthew shrugged blindly and took a seat at the kitchen table. Mama blushed hotly, suddenly very interested in washing dishes. 

“So, what happened.” Dad asked, sitting across from his son with tented fingers. “I was talking to a girl, we were playing Ninja Turtles. We were fighting Shredder and his evil ninjas. Then the new kid took my bear and... kicked me... and kicked sand in my face.” Matthew explained, trailing off nervously without finishing the whole truth.

“Tell the whole story or no dessert.” Mama remarked from the sink, pink rubber gloved hands wrist deep in soapy water. That was a serious threat, considering rice pudding with raisins was at risk. “... and they used... the F word, and said I had AIDs... and they killed Kumajirou.” the child revealed anxiously.

Dad became so angry when people brought up the word 'fag' or 'fairy'. The boy could see anger in those summer blue eyes, building like a seasonal storm. “Don't get mad, it was nothing.” Matthew assured weakly, but it was too late.

“There will be a meeting with the parents of this little bast- um, boy, right?” the tanned blond asked seriously, changing words mid sentence when Mama glared. “Yes. I already contacted the school principal and set things up.” the motherly male answered, also tense. “Babe, babe, I'm glad you took charge today, but you can't do anything crazy at the meeting.” Dad soothed from afar, noticing Mama gripping the kitchen sponge too hard.

“I can't help it! Those beasts are bullying my snicker doodle and I want break their legs.” Mama wailed, finished washing the pots. “We have to use words, dear.” Dad replied dully, not enthusiastic about the peaceful alternative. “We have to do something. This is the fifth time my precious sugar puff has been hurt.” the Russian reasoned as he peeled off flower patterned rubber gloves.

“I know.” Dad sighed, petting his oblivious son's hair as he doodled on a piece of paper. “Mattie, you're a good boy. Can you tell me how mean the bullies are?” the parent asked carefully, examining the wheaten blond for bruises from afar. The child hesitated, looking to both parents. Not wanting to risk delicious rice pudding, he reluctantly answered “... Bad.”

Mama predictably melted into a puddle of concern. Wrapping sweater plush arms around the child, the sugary sweet Russian cooed comforts and foreign words. “Mama is going to take care of this, and crush those little animals that keep hurting you.” he promised, nuzzling the boy's puppy soft hair. “Okay, I love you Mama” Matthew chirped, unconcerned.

“No Vanya, Our little Veyka needs to learn how to defend himself.” Dad denied, deep in thought. “I thought violence was bad.” Matthew said, cocking his head in confusion. “It is. But Mama can't protect you from everything. Even he has to sleep.” Dad explained, looking strangely tired.

Mulling over the possibility of learning awesome fighting skills from Dad, Matthew helped serve dinner. Tri-colour coleslaw, beef roast with peaches, and assorted baby vegetables were served alongside mixed vodka drinks. Matthew, as always, was given fruit juice instead. He did get to drink it out of a fancy glass, which definitely heightened the experience.

Half way through the visual mess that was dinner, Matthew paused eating. “Dad?” the boy asked shyly. “Yes, champ?” Dad replied mid bite, forever a sloppy eater. “I know you're big and strong, and Mama is too. But... I don't want to fight. Fighting makes me sad.” The pale freckled lad admitted, poking his coleslaw nervously.

His fears were banished with a soothing smile from both parents. “That's okay. You'll be smarter than the bullies. I'll teach you every trick I know. Because you're already the most clever boy. Who's the sweetest boy in the whole world?” Mama cheered, bleeding enthusiasm. “... me.” Matthew muttered, blushing. “And who's my little angel?” Mama continued, relentlessly supportive. “Me.” the boy answered more bravely.

“Don't you forget it. I want you to wear those glasses we bought you. You're just as blind as Fedya.” the maternal figure rambled on, very much the dictator of the house. Not that anyone minded. “I'm not blind! I'm nearsighted.” Dad protested, his shirt a mess of missed coleslaw and sauces. “You must be blind to miss so much food with a mouth that large.” Mama sagely observed. As Dad defended his honour, he knocked over several jars and cups with graceless hand gestures.

“My point proven.” Mama surmised, always right.


	3. Chapter 3

Life rolled on the way it always did with the flamboyant couple. Dad took a a day off to spent quality time with Matthew. It was nice to know he would take time off from the post office to do such things. Mostly, Dad stuck around to make sure Mama didn't teach 'bad' skills like picking pockets or locks. Mama was not pleased, insisting that breaking into cars could be used for good.

It was Friday, and the last hour of school. Everyone just wanted to go home, and the little boy knew it. He peaked into the principals office, taking in the raucous noise. Mama was sitting, wearing an expression more sour than lemons. Crossing his pink sweater clad arms, the angry male glared at his opponent with all the ire a mother could muster.

Today Mama was in full mother bear mode, wearing his bedazzled 'Be the best you can be!' sweater. He was in serious parenting mode whenever the glitter and rhinestone studded beast was donned. His enemy of the day was a rival mother in a equally hot pink dress with poodles and flowers. It was a fashion battle for the ages.

Fathers on both sides sat impassively as both maternal figures clashed aggressively with admissions of how perfect their children were. The affectionate pet names on either side slowly reduced to cute sounds like 'shmoo' and 'babypie'. Both children heard these non-sensible endearments enough that they were rather normal.

“Now, now ladies. Let's bring this conversation back to a calm level.” the principal said, looking worn and hassled like a balding veteran. “He's not even a lady!” the other father argued. “When a six foot man built like a truck asks you to call him mam, it's recommended to agree, Mr. Rollins.” the principal sighed, extremely familiar with Mama's protective brand of parenting. The perpetually concerned Russian was in here at least four times a year. He volunteered for every school event, often with gaudy clothes to match the occasion.

“Titles aside, unfortunate things were said. Matthew, I'd like you to come in please.” the principal asked, voice droning. Matthew walked in shyly, clutching a newly repaired and cleaned Kumajirou. “Hello Principal Linley.” the child greeted. Pushing up slipping red framed glasses nervously, Matthew had to admit the world was less blurry with them. “Hey there son, can you tell me what happened on Monday?” the older man asked gently.

Mama placed a large comforting hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. Only then did Matthew find the courage to speak. “I was playing with my friends in the sand box, and that meanie outside kicked sand in my face, and hit me in the stomach, and hurt my bear. He said I was a fag, and I had aids.” he recounted carefully, looking at all the adults in the room.

The bully's mother looked horrified, while the father smirked. Dad looked ready to break the American flag squeeze toy he had brought from his office for stress, face ruddy with anger. Mama was surprisingly calm, smiling like he ruled the office. Normally Mama was the most passionate at these meetings.

“That's a very serious accusation, son.” the principal stated, fingers tented pensively. “It happened! It really did!” Matthew argued, indignant at the suggestion of lying. “Eric. What's your side of this?” the principal continued, waving the other child in with a gesture. The older boy, looking rather frustrated, glared at Matthew.

“He deserves it.” the other boy spat. His mother's artfully coloured face dropped into a gaping expression of horror. The father, Mr. Rollins, smirked subtly. “Eric Thompson Rollins! What possessed you to say something so horrible!?” the mother chastised sharply, grabbing the older boy by the ear.

“Ow ow ow! Mooom! Stop! Daddy said –”

“What did he say?” Mrs. Rollins demanded between her child's whining cries. Her perfectly permed black locks bounced as she looked at her husband with utmost scrutiny. The moustached parent rolled his eyes. He rested his chin on his hand as it was propped by the arm rest of the lime green office chair. “This is a free jab at the boy. He has a cross dressing gay communist for a second father. He should feel shame. It's downright un-American.” The adult noted proudly, still smirking.

Matthew was taken aback at this blunt statement. Adults were still the pillar of his world, of everything he knew. He didn't know they could be so dark and hateful. A tear welled up in his eyes as he looked at the foreboding authority figure that had just insulted him.

Before he could even let out a sniffle, both parents were on the offensive. Dad stood, squeezing that American flag stress ball for all it was worth. “America is the greatest country on the entire planet, and you ruin it by saying garbage like that! Awesome Americans invented democracy so people like me and my wife could live in peace! Not only are you a moron, you might as well be a communist!” Father ranted angrily, sea blue eyes burning with patriotic rage.

“H-h-how dare you!” the other man gasped, genuinely hurt. He stood, fists bared in fury. “Let's go fairy. I can take you!” Mr. Rollins challenged. “Please, let's behave ourselves. We need to set good examples for the boys.” the principal suggested dryly, totally ignored.

The stage was set for the real showdown. Mama let out a noisy sob, tears big enough to compete with rivers. Those salty reserves of emotions had used before as emotional blackmail. Maybe to get free cheesecakes samples as well. “I escaped soviet Russia to live in wonderful America, and I am still treated like a beast. There's no justice in this world! No beauty!” he wept, pulling a still upset Matthew into a theatrical hug.

From previous fights with homophobic people, Matthew knew it also doubled as a protective embrace against attacks. Mama seemed to instinctively try hide the sensitive child in his tacky sweaters during confrontations. On this day, the lavender eyed youngster was grateful for the wool clad shield of muscle.

“Gerald, you're behaving worse than Eric!” The mother accused, grabbing his ear as well. “Catherine, that hurts!” the berated husband whined, now in the same position as his son. “Apologize right now, the both of you, or I'm throwing out the triple cheese lasagna I made.” The woman threatened, wielding her mom powers with brutal effectiveness.

“Owww! Dad just say it. I want to eat three cheeses at the same time!” the son begged as his ear was pulled harder. With a glare that could melt metal, the indignant father looked Ivan in the eye. “My son won't be causing any trouble for your... child.”

Mama and Dad grunted in acknowledgement, the noncommittal agreement good enough for everyone. The second they left the brick and mortar school, Mama's crocodile tears dried into a victorious smile. He was still grinning as Dad began driving home. Three blocks later, Dad broke the ice out of concern.

“Dearest, you didn't do anything regrettable did you?” he asked delicately. “No, sweetheart. I would be a terrible role model if I was so reckless.” Mama crooned, sounding incredibly cheerful. “You didn't poison them or steal their car did you?” Dad pressed on. Mama giggled but said nothing.

“Did you slash their tires?” Dad asked, somewhat serious. “I would never do something so horrible. I only have love for my little honey cake.” Mama denied dramatically, casting an adoring gaze to his son in the back seat. Dad gave up, concentrating on the road. “I thought I was your honey cake.” he muttered.

“Of course. You're my big sponge cake of hug and kisses... with delicious cream filling.” Mama assured, dropping his voice to a strange tone. Little Matthew didn't understand this. Dad's blushing reaction was also a total mystery. It was one of many mysteries about the adult world that was still unresolved.


	4. Chapter 4

North Dakota didn't really last beyond a few years, much like the other places. When Mama was assaulted by violently homophobic men while walking home, Dad's last nerve snapped. The normally happy postmaster and father roughly started packing boxes around their modest rental house.

A notorious collector of fancy teacups, Mama stepped in before his porcelain babies were harmed. Matthew recalled the conversation through paper thin walls. It was more of an agreed argument, given how loud and frightening Dad was at the time. After an extremely tense dinner, Matthew pretended to read in his room while keenly picking up on the noisy exchange.

“Fedya. Stop this. We are not moving again.” Mama's deeper voice rumbled, Russian accent purring.

“Yes we are. You were attacked while getting groceries. You could have...” Dad's equally strong Texan drawl broke to a softer sound, one of fear. “... I didn't regret leaving Texas for you, for us.”

“We have a son. We can't just move away every time an idiot calls me a soviet. Children need happy stable environments to thrive. I clearly won that fight. I don't see what the problem is.” Mama objected.

“What if they had a knife or a gun? Would you have won then? What about Matthew? He's not former military with decades of training. If someone really tried to hurt him, he couldn't break their arms or slash their tires.” As Dad spoke hurriedly, Matthew tried to imagine his cozy nurturing Mama as a hardened soldier of America's greatest threat to existence. It was an impossible and alien concept the ten year old couldn't grasp.

“One time! I slash someone's tires one time and you never let it go. That animal deserved it.” Mama sighed at the accusation. It wasn't all that long ago that the proud Russian fatal sabotaged a woman's car. To be fair, she had stolen credit for Mama's peach cobbler tarts during a charity bake sale.

“It was three times, and that's not what's important. People wanted to hurt you, and my life would be unbearable if you... were taken away.” This mushy statement was followed by muffled sounds. Thankfully they were different noises from what came out of his parent's bedroom. Matthew still wasn't sure about anything in that unspoken area. He was unfortunately starting to figure such things out.

Now pressing his ear to the wall, young Matthew barely made out meanings. “It's not right. We should ask Veyka. My little angelpie deserves to choose his fate. It's a luxury I was never given.” Mama conceded, sounding exhausted.

“Those kids are still bullying him. It's been two years. That principal is useless.” Dad complained, back at loud volumes again.

“We taught him how to be smart. He won't... get in fights.” Mama assured weakly with wavering conviction.

After a particularly rough school day two days later, Matthew arrived home. Mama was in the kitchen while a jazzy radio station blared. His blue sequin bathed sweater glittered in the dirty yellow light as he danced about with a head of purple cabbage. He only noticed the return of his son after the haggard boy physically entered the dated floral space.

“Oy, Lapushka. You are home early. Did your father give you a ride?” Mama asked curiously, turning off the archaic radio built into the wall. Despite Matthew's best attempts, the maternal figure instantly noticed the fresh bruise over one eye. “Oh sweet pea, what happened? You can tell your big cuddly mama.” the towering Russian said, stooping low to initiate an embrace.

“I want to move away.” Matthew sniffled, immediately hiding in those fluffy muscular arms. “What happened?” his protector cooed.

It was a relief to be safe again, to feel secure. Words started tumbling out of the boy, with no intention of stopping. “Some boys cornered me, and I was about to do that slip-away trick just like you taught me. They were saying such awful things about you and Dad. I got so angry, I... punched one of them. They held me down and... I couldn't stop them, Mama. I wasn't strong enough! After, I ran home.” Matthew sobbed, curling ever smaller.

Pure rage flitted across Mama's near bloodless face, settling to burning coals in his violet eyes. “Show me what they did. I'll kiss it all better with magic.” Mama said, once again calm and unreadable. The child unfurled at the offer, hesitating only a minute or so. Shyly, he pointed to his bruised brow. He was rewarded with a chaste kiss around the darkening area. Huh, he did feel a little better.

Peeling up the bottom of a baggy He Man shirt, several more bruises were revealed. On the last one, Mama tickled his tummy and blew a wet raspberry. After a heart warming fit of giggles, Mama became darkly serious. It was terrifying, but not for the Russian's own child. Matthew knew well enough it was for anyone stupid enough to cross Mama's path by hurting his baby.

“Did they touch you in your special place? Did they hurt you down there?” he asked gravely. Matthew shook his head, having no clue the volcano of rage that wrapped around him.

“I did curl-and-kick just like you said. They gave up after.” the boy informed obliviously. Both parents had taught him all sorts of things. How to trip larger opponents, spotting trouble beforehand, hiding in crowds. Aside from figurative invisibility, Matthew came to rely on defensive positioning and tenacity to wriggle out of battle. Much more often than his parents believed, unfortunately.

“You are a very good boy, Matthew. I love you, my strawberry strudel.” Mama rumbled, his voice felt reverberating through his broad chest. It was like soft distant thunder, announcing building storms. The child snuggled closer, washing in the safety of this moment as he listened. “I love you Mama.” the boy gushed, squeezing tightly.

“I love you too, so much.” Mama replied, frozen anger melting to a serene smile.

After being plopped in front of the TV, Matthew completely lost track of time. That always seemed to happen when he watched the greatest show ever, G.I. Joe. A few episodes were even about his most favourite character, Snow Job. Not only did skiing look fun, but the guy could shoot a target from one hundred yards away. He was the coolest person ever, though Matthew's parents ran a close second in pure strength. They also weren't fictional, which seemed pretty important.

In the middle of the joes taking down an evil casino owner, the TV was flicked off. A familiar gloved hand was over the fake wood panel knob, preventing it from being turned on again. Finally tearing lavender eyes from the black screen, the boy realized Dad was right there.

“Dad! Dad! You're home!” Matthew exploded with energy, bouncing around his father. Dad smirked, brushing aside his son's wavy wheaten locks. His expression fell when he spotted the bruise. It was admittedly going a gross shade of red last time Matthew checked in the bathroom.

“We need to make a quick stop, then we're going out for early dinner.” Dad announced. “Chucky Cheese!” Matthew whooped, TV totally forgotten. Both parents paled, with Mama already by the door in his tawny faux fur coat. Matthew loved how it trailed on the ground when he played with it, scents of Mama's aftershave lingering on the collar. Dad did too, sometimes hugging the coat and nuzzling it.

“No.” both parents rejected the notion instantly in unison. Ah well, it was worth a shot. Chucky Cheese was the best.

Matthew slumped in the back seat of the station wagon. They were headed back to school. The boy shrivelled at the thought of even entering the building. He held onto Mama's hand like a man about to drown at sea. Even as they entered the once hallowed school, Matthew glanced about warily for bullies. There was still an hour or two before school was out after all. Both adults were fully aware of his shift in behaviour, but said nothing.

“Now Veyka. Mama has to go talk to the principal. After, we will go out for spaghetti and cake!” his sequin encrusted guardian assured with a wink. Ooh, cake. Rocking excitedly in the chair, Matthew briefly forgot about the daily terror that was public education. Dad followed Mama, mumbling something about damage control.

Matthew didn't much care, head lost in the clouds over cake and G. I. Joe. Maybe he could ask his parents about learning how to ski, and growing an amazing beard. Less than a minute after the office door clicked shut, the most pants pissing noise to ever exist was heard. It was shrill angry words that Matthew could feel in his bones.

“HOW DARE YOU! MY LITTLE RAGAMUFFIN WAS ATTACKED AND THAT'S ALL YOU CAN SAY!? I'M GOING TO DESTROY THAT LITTLE DESK YOU'RE HIDING BEHIND, UNTIL YOU KNOW TRUE FEAR AND DO SOMETHING OTHER THAN SHIT YOUR PANTS! YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!”

It was like sugary sweet Mama had vanished upon entering that tired space, replaced by an over bearing Russian demon. Possibly a hellish creature that baked cookies and loved knitting. There was some sort of begging, and the crack of splintering wood. After indiscernible arguing, Mama emerged from the office, as demure and hug worthy as always.

Matthew peaked into the office. The balding principal was frozen in his chair, looking as though he'd seen death itself. His desk was indeed damaged, with a leg torn clean off. At least it was still bearing weight well, even if it slanted sharply. Dad cleared his throat nervously, not leaving quite yet. “So... um, It would be appreciated if you didn't call the cops...” he started nervously.

The principal twitched, unresponsive. “I'm just gonna leave some money, right... here. And you can get a nice new desk, and none of this happened, okay?” Dad placed a small pile of monetary bills on the man's lap, patting it for emphasis. Backing out of the partially demolished office, Dad bit his lip anxiously.

“We better go son.” the man ordered, spotting his very affectionate husband by the school exit. Mama waved back cheerfully, blowing a kiss. No. That horrifying explosion of noise had definitely not been from this loving perfect role model. There was probably just demons in that poor soul's work space prior to Mama arriving. Perfect logic to a creatively inclined ten year old's mind.


	5. Chapter 5

“Mama. You have to stop moving.” Matthew warned. His parent wiggled in his seat, impatient. “I can't help it. I'm finally getting married. I never even thought it could be possible. But it's real. Is this real? Did the delivery guy bring the right flowers? Oh do I have enough rhinestones on my suit?” The Russian fussed, picking at his perfectly styled shaggy hair for the seventh time.

“Everything is perfect and beautiful. You look perfect. Me and Katya promised we would plan the perfect wedding.” the dutiful son promised, putting the hair back in place. These days, Mama's hair was becoming more silver than platinum. His age was starting to show, laugh lines and wrinkles etched into his sunless skin. Dad was still in denial and dyed his hair blonde, but Mama accepted his status gracefully.

Twenty years had passed since the unusual family moved from North Dakota. Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada had been no better, getting exponentially hotter in annual temperature. After five years of constant moving, the trio find there true home. California.

There was lovely beaches, excellent colleges, and a visibly active gay community. Granted it was so hot Mama and Matthew wanted to keel over and die. After being bribed with a luxury air conditioner that cost an entire paycheck, Mama reluctantly agreed to the move.

Despite skimming by on two part time jobs and sacrificing everything, Matthew's parents didn't regret their choices. In the quaint little town they moved to, everyone was so nice. Mama and Dad could hold hands and no one even batted an eye. There was other Mamas and Dads there too, with there own children and pets. There was a LGBT community centre only a few blocks from school. The school principal always seemed terrorized by parents just as blatantly colourful and proud as Mama.

Mama even made friends in this matter, upon discovering another parent with a sweater even uglier than his. Mama and his bedazzler gun were occupied for months at the local craft club. Through skinned knees and spelling bees, Matthew had grown to love this small town, even as it grew rapidly into a flamboyant city. Hundred of persecuted people from cross dressers to asexuals still flocked here in modern, more accepting times.

The community was so wonderful. LGBT members volunteered to be guests at Mama and Dad's wedding. Matthew was secretly relieved. From brief long distance calls, the quietly polite man had discovered Dad's family was violently homophobic. Mama's family in Sochi was even worse, denying they were related at all. One of Mama's best friends from craft club, a friendly transwoman that could cook the best lasagna ever created, was witness to the marriage.

So it was that the wedding date was set. Today was the day, after months of fighting off Mama's attempts at control. Dad had secretly asked Matthew to plan most of the event with Ekaterina, his long term Ukrainian girlfriend. Father and son both knew from experience that anything Mama planned ended up... unconventional. The loving Russian figure probably meant the best of intentions. Everything he touch just ended up neon, glittery, or both.

Mama was mostly sated in the end. He picked out all the flowers, and the cake. How science had produced glow-in-the-dark blue roses, Matthew didn't even want to know. The cake was at least normal, some variant of white chocolate. The icing job was eye burning rainbows and white flowers. There was some things the wheaten blonde simply let go of. The strange choice of dessert would probably pass inspection, given half the people in attendance were also highly expressive.

Finally ready, Mama stood and straightened out his white suit. “Were the buttons not enough? Oh god, I wish I had my hot glue gun.” the wall of a man fretted, starting to pace. Even after softening slightly with age, he was still intimidating to strangers. “Mama, please. It's time to go get married.” Matthew assured.

Tugging Mama out of the room before he paced a hole in the floor, the duo headed for the improvised 'chapel' of the convention centre. It was the only building in town big enough to host everyone that wanted to come. When word spread the couple barely had enough money to buy tuxedos, it officially became potluck wedding. Matthew feared the miles of dry vegetable trays that would preside in another room.

When Mama entered the vast room and looked around, a largely unknown Pentecostal priest gestured to an electric piano player in the corner. Mama, not having seen all the room decorations prior, looked ready to weep with joy. Another man in a 'formal' black jogging suit began playing his cello. The melodious music poured through dated wall speakers.

Cream coloured ribbon was tied around otherwise regular chairs from the convention centre. The chairs were in long rows, facing a white flower arch 'altar' with utmost reverence. Mama's violently blue roses, babies breath, and generously donated white carnations were bound in silver ribbon. The unique bouquets were sparsely placed in visible places throughout the room.

Seeing his already emotional parent melting on the spot, Matthew gave Mama a push. Reminded he could walk, the awestruck Russian began to move. Felicity, one of Mama's best friends and maid of honour, linked arms with the overwhelmed man. “Let's finally get you married Vanya.” the transwoman whispered excitedly, radiant with sweet Italian charms. “Yes, Feli.” Mama answered in hushed tones, drinking in the sight of Dad at the altar.

Ludwig, Felicity's partner and Dad's very German boss, stood impassively to the side as best man. He looked less strict and constipated than usual, daring to smile for the event. He must be really happy, Matthew thought to himself.

In vast contrast to Mama's semi-gaudy white tuxedo with purple shirt, Dad was quite bland. He was wearing a black suit from his editor's job at the local newspaper. Amidst the plain clothes, was the most Patriotic tie to ever exist. To know a man was to see what tie he picked for work, Dad had often recited before.

The tie was the American flag as a sky, with two eagles soaring together. The majestic creatures were also American flag coloured. Dad had searched the entire state of California for such a find. He finally found the thing being sold from a street stall in Fresno. Dad nearly teared up at the sight of it.

“Champ, I think I found the most beautiful tie in the world.” Dad uttered at the time, magnetized to the stall. Matthew rolled his eyes, trailing behind with car keys in hand. He hoped his girlfriend was fairing better with Mama at the craft store. Those people greeted the Russian by name, probably having an entire aisle for his sparkle covered whims.

“Ya got a sharp eye there. Helluva tie.” the leathery skinned salesman greeted from his plastic lawn chair. His accent was ridiculous, an implacable Frankenstein of Dad's Texan drawl and something very Spanish. “It's perfect. I want three.” Dad immediately replied. The price was outrageous, but he paid it without hesitation. He was even swindled into American eagle 'cuff links' that Matthew was certain were cheap metal broach pins.

Ah, sweet memories.

Straightening said tie nervously, Dad finally looked up at Mama. He looked completely enraptured as his partner walked down the carpeted 'aisle'. Silently, Matthew slipped into his front row seat beside Ekaterina. Matthew quietly greeted his cherished girlfriend of four years with a squeeze of hands. She responded by interlacing fingers and smiling softly. God, that expression could capture a man's heart a twenty paces.

Have to look up slightly due to slight height differences, his lavender eyes locked with her dusky blue. Like a winter sunset he could get lost in forever. It was only fitting, since the pair had met when Matthew was backpacking across Europe. It was soul crushing winter, and he was horribly lost in the Ukrainian capitol of Kiev. Ekaterina took pity upon him, practically dragging the young man to her cramped soviet era apartment for mittens and hot chocolate.

Her English was becoming functional these days, but the couple still largely communicated in Russian. Thank god Mama patiently taught him the language as a teenager. “You should be watching.” she whispered in Russian, giving his hand a squeeze. Tearing his gaze away from her beautiful face and ample assets, Matthew settled for witnessing a wedding. He supposed it was important.

The music cut off as Mama arrived at the altar, smiling like a love struck fool. The priest started his holy phrases, not that Matthew really cared. Mama's inherent atheism had rubbed off on him over the years. True love was tangible in the air, like the perfume of youth and joy. It was admirable how happy his parents were together, even after twenty five years of continuous cohabitation.

“... and both grooms had very special vows to say.” the priest finally announced. Matthew sat up straight, wondering what they would say. Dad sweated through shirts for weeks while staring at a blank sheet of paper. Mama had been the opposite, drafting a literal novel in every obnoxious shade of ink except black.

Dad cleared his throat, taking a crumpled paper out of his pants pocket with trembling fingers. After two failed starts, he spoke in a bold even drawl. “I remember when I first met you in 1976. Your English was a mess, but you looked so happy whenever I delivered your mail. It always made my day better when you gave me those sweet smiles, or little bundles of cookies. I was going through a divorce at the time...”

Dad choked up a little, pausing to take a deep breath. Still, he pressed on. “Some days those little treats were the only thing that got me out of bed. When you cancelled your newspaper subscription, I started delivering you community flyers. It was silly, I know... I still remember how you invited me inside for tea with less than a dozen English words. You didn't even need them. I could see how much you enjoyed my company, and I was surprised at how much I needed yours.”

Mama looked ready to cry, blissfully enamoured by his lengthy vow. Encouraged, Dad spoke more. “You've taken care of me for the last twenty seven years. You've raised my son for twenty five. I look forward you leading the rest of my life as well.” Vow concluded, a few sniffles and awes were heard in the large seated crowd behind Matthew. Dad stuffed the crumpled page back in his pocket, pushing glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

Mama looked ready to tackle him with kisses, but somehow restrained himself. Instead he slipped on a serious expression. Slipping a cue card from his breast pocket, he began to speak.

“When I was young in the USSR, I wondered if true love existed. I never dared hope for it, since society condemned homosexuals. When I was drafted into the military, I felt more alone than ever. I heard constantly of the American enemy, the threat to all life. But I couldn't believe what I was told. Everyone here always looked so happy. I wanted this happiness for myself, more than anything in the world. One night, I had a dream, a dream of finding true love in America.... I have always believed in fate. I was certain this dream was a sign.”

Smirking, Mama looked at Dad with royal purple eyes. “I fled the motherland a week later, trading everything I had. After a month at sea, I ended up at a port in South Carolina. With only a bag of clothes and an English phrase book, I started over. I was placed in Texas by the government, who thought I was a communist. Despite this, America was everything I hoped it would be. I met my precious Fedya that year. You were the most sweetest most handsome gentleman I ever met. I was determined to marry you, somehow, someday. Today is finally that day, and I never want to let you go.”

The priest nodded once they were clearly finished, saying a few notable phrases from the bible. Dad listened with rapt attention, while Mama merely gazed at his husband lovingly. He had actually been highly opposed to a priest at all. Mama conceded defeat after being allowed to decorate his white tux with all the shiny white rhinestones he wanted. Those were the extra expensive ones after all.

Finally to the good part again, the priest looked to Alfred. “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness or health, until death you part?” 

Dad swallowed thickly, eyes shining behind thick glasses. “I do.”

“... and do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, through sickness or health, until death you part?” the priest repeated dully, looking at Mama intently. The Russian nodded at first, eyes watery. “D-d-da... Yes, I do.” he replied a second later, voice thick with emotion. “I now pronounce you partners. You may kiss the groom.” the man concluded with a large smile.

Matthew watched his parents figuratively consume each other like horny teens at the altar. To his credit, he barely cringed at the excessive display called a 'kiss'. After all, he was just as guilty of said behaviour behind closed doors. It couldn't be helped when lovely Katya always smelled of maple syrup from her waitress job. Whether it be blini, crepes, or pancakes, Matthew's crippling weakness was his stomach. Like father, like son.

As the newly married couple stopped eating each other long enough to leave the improvised chapel, people cheered and whooped. The shy wheaten blonde stood and clapped as well. Matthew lost himself in thought. After everything the family had faced together, he wondered what could possibly come next. Whatever it was, they would deal with it just fine.

After all, any adventure involving Mama was one of magic. From kissing Matthew's bruises better as a child, to family dinners every Saturday, the endearing parent had brought joy and glitter to everyone's lives. And wasn't that what a Mama was for?

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you see? Comment or leave a kudos!


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